Translation | Eder Capobianco Antimidia
It was nearly midnight and the uproar is formed in the middle of the square. The crowd was arranged in circle crowding together and screaming for blood. Two guys exchanged kicking and punching as if it was a duel until the death, but without a lady for the winner. Neb approached and went to stuffing in the middle of human mass. Two guys are picking up money bets while the animal side of gamblers surfaced through expressions of hatred and cry of war. One of the fighters fall down and the other was staggering. Then one of the bookmakers entered the middle of the circle and raised the right arm that stood staggering. “Sledgehammer! This is our champion!” The people divided between shouts of “crooked deal” and the chorus of “Sledgehammer! Sledgehammer! Sledgehammer!” Two peons entered into the circus ring and pulled out the loser like if he were a sack of blood-soaked shit. The Sledgehammer took a few bucks with the bookmaker and went creeping to fall in a bank forward.
“Let’s go to the next fight of tonight: paying off 2 to 1 ……… Blood Eyes vs Steel Fists!” Go up the sound of the audience acclaiming the gladiators, and a giant appears on one side of the corner throwing punches himself in the head and howling like a wolf in heat. In the other corner one tiny strong skinny jumped side to side, supporting hands on the ground as a primate in defiance of all band. Did not judge, or talking, or rule. But before the fight the bookmaker came into the middle of the ring and called on: “Who goes to the next match?” A big fat man with a longshoreman’s face emerged from the midst of the fans floored two or three dipsticks and puffed out his chest as if to say “hit the alpha male”. “Does anyone here think can win the He-Man!?” Neb excused for a mason who was in front of him and gave two short step with your arm raised. “I do.” There was silence, and they all looked quiet to that plump guy with 5 feets and 220 pounds of jelly. A second later all laughed and pointed to Neb. “No kidding me.” “Called a real man to fight.” “Take this grandma figurine there before he gets hurt!” Neb did not change his expression and stared at the bookmaker. “Do you know where this getting into?” He asked. Neb nodded yes with his head.
The battle began and Neb stay in the corner watching the first moments of the fight between Blood Eyes and Steel Fists. It was a slow big fat guy and a skinny articulated to testing themselves. They seemed to be exchanging friendly punches, until one managed to take down the other and the thing warmed up. In the middle of pushing and shoving Neb felt someone pulling her arm out of the action. It was one of the bookmakers. “Let’s make a deal: you fall when you take the first punch and I paid to you the same that I pay for the winners. I do not want deaths here, it’s bad for my business.” “I think I will not die here today.” The bookmaker gave an ironic smile. “You know about. But before you start the fight know about that the loser takes nothing, and you still have time to get out of here with nothing and walking.” After that he began to shake hands in the air with the wad of bills and returned to the middle of the turmoil. Neb reached the limit circle and saw that the Steel Fists was not enough to bring down the Blood Eyes. The dream is over in a hook up that made the maxillary of Blood shaking like an old washing machine.
Two twit led the loser fainted away. Blood Eyes proposed to fight another round. The opponent would be a bad old faced and with brands that said it would not be the first time he dared to take a beating. Before announcing the next fight the bookmaker looked Neb as if to say: is your last chance. He raised a little his sleeves and turned his cap backward. “From my right hand, paying off 2 to 1, the crushing bones He-Man!” The brute puffed out his chest and yelled at enjoy, “I’ll end you lot of lard. You will never walk again!” And the people supported. “Kill, kill, kill.” Discreetly, Neb took out a white powder and sent it to the nose. Then he began to twitch like a rusty robot. “From my left side, paying off 20 to 1, the discredited Fish Soapy.” He entered the circle under laughter, chewing the gums and with a mouth dripping blood. “Beck to pond or you will turn pumpkin crushed!” “Today is going to have fish stew!”
The bookmaker left the ring and the He-Man hit two left jabs in Neb, who tried not turn and either not accused the stroke. The brute raised his arms calling the galley and began scoff. “Come on, you already had to have fallen.” Neb did not move to much, just squirmed and chewing gum. Then came two more jabs and a right cross that did Neb totter on tack of the floor and juggling to keep in feet. “It’s over mallards, your time has come.” He-Man was up angry and screaming. Neb gave way to the bull, but left his foot in the way. The big fat guy stumbled and went straight to the crowd, which propelled him back to the center of the circle. Incorporating Shawn Michaels skills Neb gave a flying double kick in the big boy pit of his stomach, which fell back like a rotten banana and began to squirm out of breath. With unexpected agility he got up and hit a field goal kick to the head of He-Man, who slept in the moment. The silence that followed was agonizing. Neb turned wheezy for the bookmaker, who was standing with his mouth open and his hand up full of money, a kind of trance. Slowly he entered the ring and announced the winner. Neb took the payment champion and left squirming.